On a September morning, when the day is still young,
the air arrives crisp and salty, and the rain, for once, has taken a little break.
The sands are dry beneath my feet. The fields are green and lush, flowers opening their little face, to the morning.
I’m at the river-bend. The water shimmers and glows beneath the sun, turning every ripple into a little piece of light.
I look towards the horizon.
It looks swept, clean, endless, like the night had passed a gentle hand across it.
What a beautiful day it will be.
Above me, the birds are returning to their nests after a night away.
They gossip in flocks as they fly over the water, little wings carrying their little secrets.
Some dip into the river, touching its surface before swaying back into the sky.
Birds love to show off.
The wind moves through the palms, and the flowers growing at the edges of the water follow its rhythm.
Everything is swaying. Everything is breathing.
The waves rush towards the shore and clap against it, welcoming the morning.
Then come the fishermen, one by one, then two by two. Their boats glide gently across the water. Nets are cast. The river opens and receives them.
My eyes fall on two children who have come fishing too.
They stand in the middle of the river, small against its vastness, and pull.
And pull. And pull.
Their muscles strain, their little bodies leaning backwards against the weight of the net, but they do not give up.
Then, bang.
The catch spills into their boat, a school of silver fish flashing beneath the morning sun.
Their faces brighten. A good catch. A beautiful beginning to a brand-new month.
But the fish are not celebrating.
They wiggle their little tails, gasping for breath, their bodies remembering the water they have just left. If fish could wish, they would wish themselves back into the river.
Then one of the bigger ones finds its chance.
A sudden leap, a flash of silver and it disappears beneath the water.
The boys watch it go. They know that sometimes a creature deserves another day. I look on and notice that in their silence, they are saying,
Go. Live. Swim far away from danger. There will be another day
when the river gives you to us again.
And just like that, the river closes over it, keeping its little secret, while September continues to unfold.
a reflection of the little time I spent at the river-bend.
